


Winter Kept Us Warm

by apple_pi



Category: The Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Christmas, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-05
Updated: 2016-07-05
Packaged: 2018-07-21 18:32:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 9,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7398748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apple_pi/pseuds/apple_pi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Winter holidays, angsty schmoop, and delicious, delicious first-times.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. PRELUDE

Billy _wanted_.

He’d said, once or twice—asked directly, cornered into some kind of answer—that he didn’t. To himself, he’d said it for a long, stupid time: _I don’t, I’m not, I wouldn’t_. A long, stupid time. Said it to himself so often he’d believed it was true, and come to the real truth—the honest truth, the truth that hurt and felt right—through pain and embarrassment, and a struggle that took not days or weeks but months, more than a year.

When he did finally come to it (not it to him, he’d been far too blind for far too long for that mercy), the truth was empty, hollow, and hard as a stone, something to hold in his hand and his head and his heart. Because when he did finally come to it, it was too late, and he’d a life built around lying to himself and to others, and what could he do? 

Live the lie and know the truth, which wasn’t as hard as it sounded (or should have been, either), because the lie was a good one, comfortable and pleasant and pleasing in many ways. But the lie fell apart (not because of the truth, and a shocking bit of luck that was, or maybe mercy), and suddenly he became aware that he still _wanted_ , and there was nothing between him and what—who—he wanted but his own fright and nerves and timidity.

Oh, and there was the small matter of what Dom wanted, Billy thought. Billy wanted Dom, you see, every molecule of him he could get, but maybe Dom didn’t want him. _Anymore_ , whispered his fear; _too late_ , and Billy cursed it and stopped trying to set up the Christmas tree and sat on the floor with his face in his hands, wondering what the hell he should do with this truth, this hollow stone in his hand, his head, his heart.


	2. I.

“You have a fake tree.” Dom dropped his bags and looked, first, at the tree, second, at Billy. “Why do you have a fake tree?”

“I assumed you’d be allergic to anything that was actually, you know. Alive.” Billy grinned and leaned over for Dom’s suitcase, then grunted and dropped it again as Dom grabbed him for another hug. “Ooph.”

“I don’t think I’m allergic to pine trees,” Dom said into Billy’s hair. His cheek was cold from being outdoors, hair damp from the rain, pressed against Billy’s ear. “You could’ve just asked.”

“I didn’t do it to be _nice_ ,” Billy said with mock offence. “I just didn’t want to hear you wheezing and sneezing for the whole bloody visit.” But he hugged Dom back, and nuzzled his nose into the smooth skin just below his ear. “Missed you,” he said.

“Me, too,” Dom said. “In between the surfing and the screaming girls and the becoming a huge celebrity. When I could fit it in.”

Billy squeezed him hard enough to make him gasp and let him go, stepping back, feeling his silly grin practically split his face. “And the stalkers and the paparazzi going through your trash bin and—well. Everything else. C’mon, c’mon.” He did get Dom’s suitcase, then, and Dom followed him down the hall, smiling. 

Billy hadn’t decorated the Christmas tree, so that night they sat around with boxes of thin-skinned glass ornaments and did it, drinking whisky-laced tea and trading tales, music on the stereo. “Look at this,” Billy said at one point. “This tree came with the lights already on. I love that.”

“In Waikiki they have rows of palm trees all wrapped about with lights,” Dom replied. He hung a clear, delicate glass icicle. “But they always just do white lights, I like the coloured ones better.”

“Me, too,” Billy said. He handed Dom another icicle. “Not enough colour here in winter.”

“And too much, there,” Dom said. He looked tired, though he’d slept for a bit that afternoon; his eyes stayed on the icicle after he’d hung it, Billy saw, following his gaze.

“Alright there?” Billy asked. He turned away, reaching for his teacup, not wanting to see how worn Dom looked. “Need to go to bed?”

“In a bit,” Dom said. “Let’s finish this, and maybe eat something.”

“You’re thin,” Billy said, and Dom nodded. “We’ll feed you up while you’re here.”

“Beer has a lot of calories.” Dom grinned and finally reached for another ornament, though he still didn’t look at Billy.

“Ah, well then, beer it is. Tomorrow night,” Billy promised. “There’s a good place down the road a bit.” _Tomorrow, then_ , he thought, though it made his heart stutter a bit. _He’s too tired tonight_.

“That’s fine, then,” Dom murmured, still smiling as he hung a soap-bubble globe beside a steadily glowing green light. “That looks nice.”

 

Dom slept hard through the night and well into the morning; Billy could hear his faint snores when he opened the spare-room door to check on him, but Dom himself was visible only as a lump beneath the duvet. Billy smiled and closed the door; sighed to himself as he padded down the hall, scratching his elbow. Tea for Dom, coffee for Billy, but no point in starting the tea yet.

By the time Dom shuffled into the lounge, the day was as light as it was going to get. A fire crackled cheerfully in the hearth, and Billy sat on the floor by the coffee table, up to his elbows in wrapping paper and ribbons. “Good morning, sunshine,” he said cheerfully. “Tea things in the kitchen, just pop the button on the kettle.” Dom grunted and shuffled out again; Billy watched him go, then bent to his task of taping things up.

When Dom came back, he sank onto the sofa and pulled his knees up, resting his teacup on them. “Time is it?” he asked, blowing gently across the surface of the cup.

“Half-eleven,” Billy replied. He pulled a long box toward himself and began dumping his gift-wrapping supplies into it. “You’ve missed out on all the excitement.”

“Hm?” Dom’s eyes were heavy with sleep, his hair mussed, and Billy’s chest tightened abruptly. 

He looked away, feeling his face heat. “Oh, you know. I paid the electric bill, took out the trash. Collected the post.” The top went on the box, the box went back into the cupboard under the coffee table.

“God, I’m glad I woke up when I did.” Dom slurped noisily at his tea. “Might’ve missed the scintillating sight of you tidying up.”

“Things move quickly here at Boyd’s Pleasure Palace,” Billy said. “Although I detect a hint of sarcasm. Watch it, or you may be banned from attending the annual Mopping of the Floor.” He aimed his finger at Dom as though it was a gun.

“There is a god,” Dom slurred.

Billy scrambled to his feet and went to sit by him, pulling his knees up and wrapping his arms around them in imitation of Dom. “What d’you want to do today? There’re a few hours left before we can hit the bars. I have some shopping left to do, if you’re up for it.”

“That’s good,” Dom said. “Just looking forward to hanging out, really. And I need to stay awake all day—don’t let me kip, yeah?”

“You got up too late for any kipping,” Billy said. “So let’s go, yeah?”


	3. INTERLUDE

Billy’s want was no theoretical thing. He wanted Dom’s mouth, rude and kind and funny and so rarely quiet, and his body. He wanted Dom’s hands on him and his on Dom’s, and the wet, messy fluids, scents, sounds of sex and desire and satiation. He wanted Dom’s bad moods and his sulks, his endless insecurities and brazen, wanton pride—all of it. He wanted Dom’s laughter to be all for him (knew it almost was, already, and basked secretly in every helpless laughing fit, every tear-streaked howl of hilarity, every undignified snort he could wring from Dom), wanted Dom’s tears to be about him, Billy, too. Oh, Billy wanted a lot, and he knew it and ran from it and courted it and made bold promises, alone in his house: he’d seduce Dom, win him, love him so hard and so well that Dom would have to have to _have to_ love him back.

Or perhaps—alone, in his house, in the dark with whisky and the dull thump of his pulse to keep him company, the dusty ticking of the central heating, the hum of the refrigerator—perhaps, Billy thought, he’d at least tell Dom.

At least that.


	4. II.

They spent the afternoon picking out tacky gifts for a few last friends, and Billy took Dom by Margaret’s shop to say hello. It was her house they’d be having Christmas dinner at in two days’ time, and there was consultation on what wine should be brought along. “I should make you cook us something,” Margaret said, poking Dom in the chest; Billy watched as he grinned and dodged all culinary responsibilities.

“S’been too long, I hardly know my way around the blender these days.”

“Oh, I doubt that’s true,” she said, smiling up at him. “Hawaii, after all. Have to make those fruity drinks with parasols in them, don’t you?”

“I have someone in to do all that these days,” Dom scoffed. He grabbed her and squeezed her tight suddenly. “Mmm, why’d you ever marry yourself to anyone but me?”

She giggled and squeaked in his embrace. “Get off, you great flirt. You only love me because I’m littler than you!”

“Oh, that hurts,” he said, letting her go, still laughing. “Any road, if that were the case I’d just marry Bill.”

Billy’s stomach lurched, but Margaret laughed. “I always thought you would,” she grinned. “Alright, be good now, boys, and make sure he gets me something fine, will you, Dom?”

“The finest,” Dom promised as they left the shop and its odd smells of acetone and perfume.

The drizzle stopped as they walked to Billy’s car, the damp raw December day greying already into darkness. “I already have her gift,” Billy said as they climbed into his car. 

“I assumed you did,” Dom said easily, still smiling. “And I’m sure she did, too.” They drove in silence for a few minutes. “I wish you both lived closer to me,” Dom said at last.

Billy snorted. “More likely to get me to America than Margaret,” he said. “And I’m—well, I’m alright here. Settled, anyway.”

He saw Dom’s look from the corner of his eye. “Just settled?”

“Settled is fine for some of us, Dom,” he said, a little more sharply than he’d meant to. It was an old argument, and Billy knew (though of course Dom didn’t, yet) that he’d lost it when he invited Dom here, planning to say what he planned to say, but old habits and old arguments die hard. He shook his head at himself. “Sorry. But you know I’m fine.”

“I know you turned down a script in L.A. three months ago,” Dom said unexpectedly, and Billy looked at him, veering slightly. 

“Fuck. I mean—” he corrected the car, turned onto his street. “Well, yeah. How’d you hear about that?”

Dom shrugged. “Orlando. I guess he heard you’d been offered something and turned it down; he told me. Why’d you turn it down?”

Billy pulled into his own drive and turned the car off; the rain started again just then, its soft tap drowning the tick of the cooling engine. “It was a crappy script, Dom. Just—shite. Hollywood trash.”

“Whereas the Chucky movie...” Dom said dryly.

“Oi, piss off, we’ve all done our share of shite, doesn't mean I can't change my mind,” Billy said, not looking at Dom, feeling defensive. “C’mon, let’s go in.”

Dom let it go. “Why’s it always start raining when I have to get _out_ of the car?” he said, and they jogged through the wet into the house.


	5. INTERLUDE

Billy and Dom talked a lot on the telephone. Utterly trousered, Billy once told Dom that he’d thought of kissing him. Dom had laughed, after the oddest pause, and said maybe they’d both better shave, first. “Start a fire, otherwise,” he said. And soon after that he’d rung off, though he hadn’t seemed flustered. He’d never mentioned the comment again, and Billy was sure for a while he’d dreamed it all, but memory’s a tricky thing; after a while he was just as sure that he hadn’t.


	6. III.

Billy took Dom to a bar that night, more of a club than a pub. They were uncomfortable together, just a little, and Billy knew it was his fault. Dom was the same—perhaps tired, a bit shopworn, but still, elementally, Dominic. Billy was edgy, though, eager to please half the time, eager to find fault the other half. _Maybe tonight_ , he thought while he showered before going out. _Definitely tonight_ , he answered himself. _Just get it out in the open and hope for the best_. He closed his eyes under the spray and tried to put it out of his mind for a while longer.

“This okay?” Billy said to Dom as they bellied up to the bar. It wasn’t late enough to be really crowded yet, but already energy was thrumming through the place. “I thought you might want to dance.”

“This is good. Is it new?”

Billy shrugged. Dom looked good, and Billy wished he could tell him so. “I think so, I’ve only been here once before but it seemed fun.” He caught the barman’s eye and ordered a beer for Dom, whisky for himself. “Don’t get too drunk,” he reminded himself, and Dom leaned closer, raising an eyebrow in inquiry. “Nothing,” Billy said, waving the unspoken question away. “Getting old, talking to m’self.”

“Have to lock you up soon,” Dom said mildly, and they settled in.

Dom was recognised; smiled and chatted and signed a few autographs. Two of the girls recognised Billy, too, so he did the same and tried to forget about them, after, his back to the room, looking into the mirror behind the bar, at Dom looking out at the dark, flashing room. “Let’s dance,” Dom said, leaning close; he’d bummed a cigarette from someone, and his breath was smoky—harsh and warm across Billy’s temple. Billy shook his head, smiling, and waved again. 

“You go on,” he said. “I’ll save your seat.”

He watched Dom dance, and when he came grinning back, sweating, he leaned into Billy again. “I’m parched, get me another beer?” he shouted over the music; his arm was heavy and warm over Billy’s shoulder. 

“What do you want?”

“Another of the same, or whatever,” Dom said. He grinned and downed the rest of his first beer; disappeared into the whirl of the dance floor again.

Billy ordered them each another drink, and when Dom came back this time, he perched on his barstool and drank thirstily, animated, though his face was, Billy thought, thin and a little pale under the flush of dancing and alcohol. He seemed cheerful though, making Billy snicker with his descriptions of his fellow dancers and himself. “We’re all hopeless,” Dom concluded, grinning, tossing back the rest of his beer.

And Billy grinned and agreed, wholeheartedly, because he’d had two sips of his drink and he wanted to wait (he supposed) for Dom to finish swallowing and then Billy wanted—oh he wanted so badly—to lean forward and kiss Dom, stand up over him, hold his odd, crooked face carefully and kiss him. And it didn’t matter that Dom always talked with his mouth full, or that he was allergic to half of Billy’s wardrobe, or that he could drive Billy round the bend without half trying, or that he would probably be a prat in the bedroom—he was high on Billy’s list of People Most Likely to Tickle—Billy wanted him anyway.

Hopeless.


	7. INTERLUDE

The same day Billy admitted to himself that he could love Dom in a way that had nothing to do with brotherliness, he masturbated four times in three hours. He felt awful each time—not only did the mere idea of kissing, touching, sucking, _fucking_ Dom still scare him to the depths of his bones, but he knew he was being unfaithful to his girlfriend (two thousand miles away, at the time, in Scotland). 

The first time it happened was (sort of) accidental—he was just, well. It was Sunday afternoon on a movie shoot far from home, he’d woken up at five and spent the morning agonizing and thinking and hating himself thoroughly—so there he was, tired, needing a nap, and he thought he’d have a wank, right? As you do. About one minute into it, Dom’s face floated into his imagination, and forty-five seconds later he was coming, gasping, shaking. When he recovered his breath (it took a minute or three), he rolled over and swore he wouldn’t, he’d never again, and... well.

Four times, three hours.


	8. IV.

_Not tonight_ , Billy thought, relief and absolute self-loathing mingling in his brain; but Dom had looked distinctly unwell when they came in from the club, and after a rather weak smile and a comment about holding his drink, he’d shut the spare-room door behind him. _Oh, thank Christ, don’t have to tell him tonight._

Three hours later Billy was woken by the unmistakable sounds of retching from the toilet. He lay in bed wincing in sympathy, wondering if he should go and offer to... something. Make tea? Get Dom a glass of water and some aspirin? ...Hold his hair back? Billy smirked, despite himself. A sudden loud thump and hoarsely groaned _Fuck_ , the second audible only because of the quiet of the nighttime house, made the decision for him, and Billy found himself standing outside the loo, one hand pressed to the wood, shivering in his boxers and t-shirt. 

“Dom, y’need anything?”

“I’m fine, I—” More retching. Billy made a face and turned away from the door. He reached out and nudged the thermostat on the heater upward. Might as well be warm, and it was right there... Silence, then Dom’s voice again. “I’ll be okay. Go back to bed.”

“Let me bring you some water, at least,” Billy said.

A silence, and then Dom’s voice, slow and gravelly: “Yeah, alright.”

Billy scurried to the kitchen and got water; as he poured it from the pitcher in the fridge he heard the toilet flush and the tap turn on. By the time he knocked on the door to warn Dom that he was on his way in, the pipes were silent again. “Hey. Wow, you look like shite.” Billy stood hesitantly beside Dom, who was seated on the closed toilet, head in his hands.

He smiled when he looked up, reaching for the water, but it was a ghost of his usual cheeky grin. “I think I feel like shite, too.” He sipped tentatively at the cold water, the glass trembling a little in his hand. “Ta, Bills.”

“What was that crash? My toilet all right?” Billy sat on the edge of the tub, ready to take the glass back.

“I just, uh. I dunno. Slipped or something. Banged my knee on the tub.” Dom handed him the cup and wrapped his arms about his middle. “I feel awful.”

“You didn’t drink that much,” Billy said, frowning. “I mean, enough, yeah, but I wouldn’t’ve thought you’d puke...” He set the cup aside and placed his hand on Dom’s pale, sweaty forehead. “Christ,” he breathed. “You’re burning up. I don’t think I have a thermometer.” He stood and began digging through the bathroom cupboard. “No.”

“Probably a virus or something,” Dom said. His eyes were closed, face waxy; the tender skin beneath his eyes looked bruised, and his stubble stood out sharply against his sickly pallor; two smudges of bright pink coloured his cheekbones, but otherwise his face was bloodless. “Be fine in twenty-four hours.” 

“Let’s get you to bed,” Billy said. “Wait—d’you mind if I set you up in the lounge? I can sleep in the reclining chair, that way.” 

“You don’t have to keep a bloody eye on me,” Dom said, opening his eyes, lips trying to curve into a smile. “I’ve been sick on my own before, you know.”

“Well, you’re not on your own now,” Billy said. “Stay here for a minute. Drink as much of that water as you can—I’ll be right back.”

As he made the sofa up, Billy ran through his groceries in his mind. He’d need juice, wouldn’t he? Or ginger ale. Something like that. And probably more aspirin, since the bottle he had was nearly empty. Fruit, perhaps, but what else? And what if Dom needed to go to the doctor? Well, he’d manage it, Christmas Eve or not, that’s what doctors carried pagers for, wasn’t it? And Dom might be fine in twenty-four hours, like he’d said. Which would be nice, since he’d spend Christmas flat on his back if he wasn’t better, and not in the good, Billy-on-top-of-him-flat-on-his-back way, either. Billy snorted a little at himself and went to get Dom.

 

Dom threw up three more times, but by the time the world outside began lightening toward day (nearly nine a.m.), he was asleep on the sofa, flushed and sweaty with fever; he’d kicked off his blankets, and lay with one hand curled loosely beside his mouth, the other dangling off the cushions. Billy lay curled in the enormous recliner, duvet pulled up to his chin, and watched Dom as the silver light grew.

Why Dom? It was fruitless question, and the reasons were clear and confusing in equal measure. _Why_ didn’t seem to matter quite as much as _what next_ at this point, and Billy sighed, rubbing his eyes, rubbing the grit and ache of the restless night away. When Dom stirred, Billy sat up alertly, ready to offer the lined waste-bin sitting at hand. But Dom just pushed himself slowly to a sitting position and blinked at Billy, making a face. Probably at the taste in his mouth, and Billy fought his way free of the duvet to offer him a glass of water. Dom accepted as Billy sat next to him on the rumpled blankets. He swallowed his water and scooted away from Billy. “You’ll get sick,” Dom said.

“Nah, I’m indestructible. Tough as old shoe leather,” Billy said. He put his hand on Dom’s forehead, then his cheek. “You’re still hot. How’s your tum?”

“Better,” Dom said. “Not exactly starving, but I don’t want to throw up, either.” He sank back against the cushions and closed his eyes. “Time is it?”

“We’re going to start every day like that, aren’t we?” Billy said, smiling. “It’s about nine, and I’m going to go make us some tea and maybe some dry toast for you?”

“Yes, mum,” Dom said. “I hope I don’t make you ill.” But he slumped sideways, laying his head on Billy’s shoulder. Billy stroked his hair, trying to ignore the hitch in his own breathing. 

“You won’t, I’ll be fine. Let me get you something for that fever, alright?” Billy turned his head, greatly daring, and pressed a little kiss to Dom’s temple. Dom sighed and opened his eyes, sitting up to smile at Billy and then lying back down as soon as Billy stood up. 

Dom managed one piece of toast and three paracetamol with weak tea; Billy settled him with a movie and went to throw Dom’s sheets in the washer. When he came back into the living room Dom was asleep again, his skin cooler to the touch.

He turned off the television, wrote a note and left it on the table where Dom would be sure to see it, then went out into the cold grey day. In his car outside the grocery store he called Margaret. 

“Dom’s sick,” he said, and explained. “I’m at the grocery, what should I get for him?”

Her voice was sympathetic and reassuring; she listed a few things, gave him instructions for the chemists’, told him that if they needed to stay home on Christmas that would be fine and she’d bring them over plates. “Take care of him,” she finished, and Billy smiled, tossing things into his basket as he paced the aisles, mobile tucked against his ear. 

“I will,” he said. “I’ll call you tomorrow and let you know how he is.”

“And wish me happy Christmas,” Margaret said, and he grinned. 

“That, too, of course. Bye.”

Back at the house, Dom woke as Billy came through the front door. “Where’d you go?” he asked muzzily, propping his head on one hand. “Christ, I have to piss.”

“Just round the corner, picked up a few things.” Billy dropped his bags and went over to brace Dom as he stood up, swaying a bit. “Steady on,” he murmured, and Dom half-smiled, eyes barely open as they shuffled to the loo.

“Get out,” Dom said with wave, and Billy rolled his eyes and left him there, though he left the door ajar. 

The carrier bags went to the kitchen, and Dom came in as Billy was putting juice and soda into the refrigerator. “I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck,” he complained, sitting weakly at the kitchen table and watching Billy.

“Look like it, too,” Billy said cheerfully. “Less blood than I would’ve expected, though.” He pulled the ginger ale out of the fridge again and poured Dom a glass. “Drink this. And then I’ll make you something easy. Don’t suppose you want any porridge.”

Dom made a gagging noise, but he was smiling. “I’m gonna take this in the lounge,” he said. “Don’t burn the place down.”

“I’ve managed not to so far,” Billy replied, keeping his back turned as Dom walked away, resisting the urge to help him. He knew Dom would refuse it—knew he would if their positions were switched.

 

The day passed quietly; Dom mostly slept on the sofa while Billy read or watched television (movies, mostly—every channel had been taken over by one awful Christmas special after another) or thought—thought about Dom, thought about himself. Thought about himself-and-Dom and what would people think? What would Dom think? What, exactly, would Billy do if Dom didn’t want the same things Billy wanted? Billy sighed and curled tighter into the reclining chair, pulling the duvet over his legs.

“Can I sleep in my own bed?” Dom asked that night, after eating half a bowl of soup and three crackers. “Not that the sofa isn’t comfy, mind, but I want a change of scenery.” He smiled, though he looked irritable to Billy’s practised eye.

“I—yeah.” Dom’s temperature was still up; they’d taken it an hour before, right before he took a few more pills. “You may need to wake up to take something in the middle of the night,” Billy said.

“Fine, whatever.” Dom led the way down the hall; Billy hovered in the doorway as Dom sat tiredly on the edge of his bed. “Oh, for Chrissakes.” Dom looked at him. “Whyn’t you come sleep in here? You’ve already got all my germs, so who the fuck cares at this point. And then you won’t have to come wake me up for your regimen of drugs and stuff.”

“I don’t—” Billy paused. _Ridiculous stupid idiot prat_ , he thought furiously at himself as he blushed. “Okay. Let me go put on my pyjamas. D’you need the toilet again?”

“No. I’m just tired.” He looked it, and Billy felt his heart thump oddly again. “G’wan.” Dom smiled then, crooked and sweet, and Billy nodded.

He crawled under the duvet carefully; Dom was already turned onto his side, back to Billy. “Night,” Billy said; he hesitated, then stroked gently down Dom’s shoulder and arm.

“Mm. G’night.” Dom already sounded asleep. “Feels good.”

Billy smiled and scooted a little closer. “Okay.” He kept doing it, long after he knew Dom was soundly unconscious; eventually Billy fell asleep, too, his hand pulled unwillingly from Dom’s skin. He could feel, as he drifted away, the unhappy expression on his own face.


	9. INTERLUDE

It would take an act of Parliament, Dom used to say, to get Billy to change his (damned, stupid, annoying) routines. Billy knew Dom didn’t really mind his laziness that much; his irritation was just another routine as far as Billy was concerned. He wondered, when he finally came to his truth, just how astonished Dom would be at this change in routine. From friends to lovers—it was a big change, but Billy knew, too, that it wasn’t. It shouldn’t be, and he prayed it wouldn’t be.


	10. V.

Billy woke up and reached over to feel Dom’s skin. Damp and cool, and his hand encountered, half an inch higher, wet hair, plastered to Dom’s scalp with sweat.

“Dom, Dommie,” Billy whispered, making a face as he stroked Dom’s sweaty hair. He half-sat up and glanced at the clock by Dom’s side of the bed. Four a.m., and he could feel Dom waking, though the other man didn’t move. “Wake up, I need to change the sheets, Dom.”

“Don’t tell me you peed yourself again,” Dom rasped. He sounded cranky, and Billy could see, dimly, that his eyes were squinched firmly shut.

Billy tugged sharply at a lock of hair. “No, your fever broke, I think. You’ve sweated all over everything.”

Dom groaned and rolled away; he lay still for a moment, back to Billy, and then sat slowly up, swinging his feet to the floor. “I need to piss,” he said, throat full of gravel.

“Go on, then, and I’ll do this.” Billy sat up, shivering a little in the cool air, and waited for Dom to pad away into the toilet. Once he was gone, Billy stripped the bed and went for clean sheets. “I seem to be doing this a lot,” he said when Dom came back, leaning against the doorframe, a dark shape against the darker square of the open door. He wandered into the room and changed his t-shirt, moving slowly but steadily. Billy looked away, suddenly anxious, uncomfortable.

“At least it’s just sweat.” Dom came over to help, stuffing the pillows into their cases and sprawling on the fresh sheets as Billy flapped the duvet up and settled it over him. “C’mon back in.” Dom patted the other pillow.

“Let me get you some more paracetamol,” Billy said. “And I have to pee, too.” He did that, first, then rummaged through the medicine cabinet by the faint glow of the nightlight over the sink. Dom always made fun of it, but Billy had got tired of banging his hip into the sink. He shook two pills into his hand and filled a plastic cup with water.

“Here you are,” he said quietly; Dom grunted and sat up to take the cup and pills. Billy stood beside the bed, shifting from foot to foot, until the pills had gone down. “More water?” he asked.

“No, m’fine. C’mon.” Dom put the cup on the night table and flopped back again, yawning. “Fuck, I hate feeling so weak. Get into the bed, Bill.”

Billy blushed, glad for the darkness. “You sure?”

“Might as well,” Dom mumbled. Billy nodded silently and went around to crawl in. He settled with his eyes on Dom’s back again.

“How d’you feel, other than weak?” Billy let his hand creep up to Dom’s nape, rubbing a little. 

“Mmm. Hmm? Oh. Okay. Not sick, really. I told you it was a twenty-four-hour thing.” Dom yawned again, and Billy did, too. “Thanks for taking care of me.”

“‘Course.” Billy kept massaging Dom’s neck, waiting for him to fall asleep.

He didn’t. After a while he sighed and shifted; Billy drew his hand back and Dom turned over to face him. “Think I slept too much today,” Dom said. “I’m too tired to get up, but not really sleepy.”

“Mm.” Billy made a little sound of understanding. His heart was beating a little too quickly. Dom was quite close, and Billy was suddenly all too aware of his own attraction, and how inappropriate it was at this moment. He blushed again, hot and red. “I dunno if we should go to Maggie’s,” he said, just for something to say.

“I might feel fine in a few hours,” Dom said. “I was puking my guts out not that long ago, and I feel this much better, now...” He frowned, a little line appearing between his brows, and suddenly one hand was on Billy’s forehead, long fingers light and cool. “You’re hot,” he said.

Billy bit back a panicked snort of laughter. “Took you this long to notice, did it?” He pushed Dom’s hand away. “I’m fine,” he said. “I don’t feel sick.”

“Are you sure?” Dom closed his eyes, sighing. “Be nice of me to come all this way and get you sick for Christmas.”

“It’s a really _personal_ gift,” Billy said, smiling. “But I’m healthy, I promise. I’ll let you know if that changes.” 

“You’d better.” Dom reached for Billy’s hand and held it in both of his own, massaging gently. “Go back to sleep, Bills. I’m okay.”

Billy let his eyes close and gave Dom’s hand a tiny squeeze. “‘Kay. Wake me if you need anything.” He fell asleep with Dom still holding his hand, and dreamed that he’d kissed him already.

 

When he woke, Dom was asleep and the room was light. Billy lay there blinking at him, wondering why he’d woken up—oh. The phone. He groaned and rolled over and away, struggling out of the duvet and sheets, cursing as he thudded to one knee and staggered up and out of the room.

“’Lo?” he gasped into the phone in the lounge, panting.

“Happy Christmas,” Margaret said. “Did I wake you?”

Billy yawned and rubbed his eyes with his fist. “No. Oh, fuck it, yes, of course you did. Happy Christmas. What time is it?”

“Ten o’clock, you lazy sod. How’s Dom?”

“He’s—my god, really? I haven’t slept that late in a while. He’s fine. Feeling better, I think. Asleep—” Warm arms wrapping round his waist and Dom’s chin poking sharply into his shoulder made Billy jump and curse, nearly dropping the phone as Dom’s arms tightened and his gravelly chuckle rumbled against Billy’s neck. “Margo? He’s awake, I mean.” He made his voice dry, but patted Dom’s arm, wondering if Dom could feel his heart beating too fast through their t-shirts.

Margaret laughed. “So will you two be coming over? Dinner’ll be about two. Or I can bring you food if he’s still unwell.”

“Happy Christmas, Margaret,” Dom said over Billy’s shoulder, into the phone.

“Hold on,” Billy said at the same moment. He lowered the phone and stood still, hearing Margaret’s _Happy Christmas, Dom_ , come tinnily from the speaker, trying to stand still. “What do you want to do, Dom?”

“Well.” Dom sighed and his chin disappeared; a moment later his forehead (it felt like) pressed against the top of Billy’s shoulder. “I’d say we should go over, but I still feel kinda like just laying around, mostly, and I don’t want to get everyone sick on Christmas Day, either.” He yawned, muffled against Billy’s shirt.

“Margaret?” Billy put the phone to his ear again. “Would you mind terribly, coming over later?”

“No, not at all. In fact, I’ll bring you something at two sharp, and then tomorrow you boys can come over if he’s up to it, and we’ll have a proper Boxing Day feast.”

“That sounds fine,” Billy said gratefully. “Thanks, love.”

“Of course,” Margaret said simply. “Take care of yourself, Billy, and if you get sick, make Dom clean up after you.”

“I will,” Billy said, grinning. “I feel fine, though.” Dom had his chin back on Billy’s shoulder, arms still snug around his waist. “Happy Christmas again—we’ll see you soon.”

“Make him take a shower before I get there,” she said. 

“I heard that,” Dom called, breath tickling Billy’s ear.

“Good, I meant you to.” She was laughing. “Bye, Billy.”

“Bye.” Billy clicked the phone off and placed it back in its cradle. “Good morning.” He rested both hands on Dom’s forearms and closed his eyes for a moment.

“Morning,” Dom said. “I do want a shower, your rude sister be damned.”

“Go on, then,” Billy said. “I’ll go after you.”

 

“Where’s my present?” Dom said, hovering outside the door of the loo. “Well?”

“Did you just remember it’s Christmas?” Billy shivered, pulling his robe tighter around his still-wet body, and pushed Dom out of the way. “Let me get dressed, you great wanker, and I’ll give you your gift. Maybe.”

When he was dressed he went into the lounge, only to find Dom sitting on the sofa, turning his gift over in his hands. “It’s obviously a new pair of slippers,” he said.

“Yes, obviously,” Billy said dryly. It was actually, and obviously, a book, and Billy sat down and watched as Dom ripped the paper off. “Oooh, it’s—oh, this is really nice,” Dom said, eyes widening. Billy smiled, feeling his cheeks pink. “And small enough I can fit it in my coat pocket.”

“You go through them so fast,” Billy said, shrugging. “Look inside.”

“Oh, there’s more?”

Billy rolled his eyes. Only Dom would think that a blank journal costing eight-pounds-ninety would be his entire gift from his best friend. “Yes, there’s more,” Billy said, but Dom was already shaking the journal upside-down, so the envelope inside fell into his lap. 

He tore it open and grinned hugely. “Plane tickets!”

“I’ve got a role in Italy in July,” Billy explained. “I called Jorge and had him check for me, and he said you’d be free, so I thought maybe you could come right before filming starts, and we could have a holiday together.”

“That’s brilliant!” Dom said. He leaned over to hug Billy, the journal poking his back. “I can’t believe he didn’t give it away.”

“I threatened his life,” Billy said mildly. “I may be smaller than him, but I’m meaner.” He chewed his lip, grinning at Dom’s glee. “Now where’s mine?”

“Oh, man.” Dom’s face scrunched up. “Mine’s not nearly that good,” he said, but he was already handing it to Billy, a flattish box wrapped in the funny papers, as Dom’s gifts always were.

“Shut it,” Billy said affectionately, tearing open the wrapping, eyes widening. “It’s—what is it?” He struggled with the cello tape for a minute and lifted the lid to reveal several parcels. “A new mp3 player? But I already–”

“It’s waterproof,” Dom said proudly. “And impact-proof—you can bash it around and it won’t even stop playing. And sand-proof, and everything—I thought it would be perfect for the beach.”

“It is,” Billy said, delighted. He started prying the box open to get at it. “This is brilliant!”

“There’s more,” Dom said, grinning. And there was—a little waterproof mp3 player and speakers for in the shower, and another set for the kitchen, and a gift card for an online music site. “See, so you can take all your songs everywhere with you.”

“Dom, this is brilliant,” Billy said, looking at the largesse scattered all over his lap and the sofa. “Thank you!” He grabbed Dom and squashed him into a hug. 

“Happy Christmas,” Dom said into his hair, and Billy nodded. 

“To you, too,” he said. He kissed Dom’s temple, heart tripping for a moment, and let him go, grinning broadly. _Please_ , he thought inarticulately. _Please let this work._ He wasn’t sure who he was saying it to, but he meant it. He settled back to open all the boxes and inspect his new toys.

Billy tidied the lounge and put on Christmas music (his new players were charging, hooked to various outlets about the house); Dom lay on the sofa, steadfastly refusing any offers of a blanket, until he was, between one tired, irritable comment and the next, dozing. Billy rolled his eyes and fetched a quilt.

“Wanker,” Dom muttered, as Billy lay it over him. He smiled though, and rolled over to tuck his face into the back of the sofa.

Billy trailed his fingers through Dom’s still-damp hair gently. “Shut it,” he said quietly, smiling, and left Dom there to snooze.

 

Margaret came over at one forty-five, balancing four covered dishes in her arms. Billy opened the door and relieved her of two, to her sigh of relief. “Thanks,” she said, and as she stepped into the hall, Dom took the other two.

“Oooh,” he said, peeking through the clear wrap over one dish. “This one’s mine.”

“Only if you finish the rest of it,” Margaret said immediately. “Be right back.” She vanished again, coming back with two more plates and a bottle of wine.

“My god, how long have you been cooking? And why didn’t you bring Martin with you?” Billy asked, laughing as he followed her into the kitchen.

She rolled her eyes. “I need a break from Martin. The minute his mother appears he’s as helpless as a babe. Now, everything’s at least a bit warm, so eat now. I have to go back and suffer through my mother-in-law.” She eyed the bottle on the tabletop. “I should take that back with me.”

“You have enough,” Billy said, stepping in front of it protectively.

She smiled. “Aye, and as you do, too, I’ll be off. Happy Christmas.”

“Where’s my pressie?” Billy said, walking to the door with her.

“Where’s mine?” She turned and kissed him on the cheek, reaching past him for Dom to kiss him, too. “You’ll get it tomorrow and no whinging or Father Christmas will get it back.”

They waved to her from the door, Dom with his arms wrapped around himself in the draft. Billy shut the door quickly and pushed Dom toward the blankets on the sofa. “No getting a chill,” he said, but Dom scowled at him. 

“I’m fine, stop treating me like a child. Let’s eat.” He stomped ahead of Billy, back to the kitchen, but by the time Billy arrived, he’d stopped frowning and was diligently using the corkscrew to crumble the cork into the wine.

“Oi, let me,” Billy said. “You deal with the food, right?”

Dom stepped back and Billy managed to salvage the wine. When they sat down, Dom peered into his wineglass, then looked at Billy’s. “There’s more cork in mine.”

“You need the roughage.”

They toasted Margaret and set to. Billy sat back from his empty plate and sipped his wine again. “You’ll never get fat eating like that.”

Dom looked at his plate and nodded. “I know. Just not that hungry.” He tipped his chair backward onto two legs and groped on the counter; after a moment he crashed back to all four legs. “Let’s do our crackers.” He split one with Billy and put the paper crown on before reading his saying: “ _Have yourself a merry little Christmas, make the Yuletide gay, from now on our troubles will be miles away_. Lovely.” He smirked and adjusted his crown. “Gay enough?”

“Oh, it’ll do,” Billy said faintly, red-faced and grinning. He popped his cracker open with Dom’s help and read his fortune to himself. He set it aside, unfolding his crown and lifting it to his head. Dom reached for the fortune, grinning, and Billy stopped himself from snatching it away.

“ _So this is Christmas, and what have you done? Another year over, a new one just begun_. I should’ve got that one, dammit.” Dom folded it up and put it in his pocket. “But your crown is nicer.” He smiled at Billy, and Billy, with an effort, smiled back.

“You have room for pudding?” he asked, and when Dom shook his head ruefully, Billy stood up, nodding. “Your appetite will come back. We’ve another nine days to drink beer and eat leftovers and takeaway.”

“Thank god,” Dom said. “I hate that I feel so tired.”

Billy took his plate and began clearing everything away for later. “At least you’ve stopped throwing up.”

“Best present ever,” Dom agreed. “Let me help clear up.”

Billy shook his head. “Done already.” He patted Dom’s shoulder, then stretched. “Christ, this is the laziest I’ve been in years.”

Dom nodded. “Oh my god—” he paused to yawn. “Me, too.”

“Let’s watch a movie.”

They started off at opposite ends of the couch, making fun of Julie Andrews and singing _How do you solve a problem like Elijah?_ but Dom kept yawning and finally grabbed Billy and pushed him over. “C’mon, lay down.”

Billy did, and Dom lay in front of him, snuffling comfortably. Billy let his arm fall around Dom’s waist and tried not to be too obvious about the fact that he was sort of, well, smelling Dom’s hair, and keeping his bum shoved back against the cushions because the proximity of Dom’s arse to his pelvis was putting decidedly nice—no, wait, bad, naughty—thoughts into his head. Billy closed his eyes, tuning out the low warble of Liesl singing about being sixteen, going on seventeen, and relaxed, letting his face mash pleasantly against Dom’s nape.


	11. INTERLUDE

Billy cleaned his house like a fiend before Dom came. And after he’d scrubbed at sink fixtures with his toothbrush (and gone out to get himself a new one at the chemists’), he hired a service to come in and go over it all again. He washed every item of clothing he owned, every sheet and towel and duvet. When he was contemplating putting the curtains into the washing machine, he stopped himself and sat in the dark kitchen with a glass of whisky, smoking a fag he’d found in the back of a kitchen drawer (abandoned over a year ago by Dom, and stale and nasty-tasting) and tried to stop shaking. 

After a while he stopped trying. He got up and washed the tumbler and the saucer he’d used to stub out the cigarette.


	12. VI.

“Billy.”

The television was off; it was dark outside, the only light inside that of the tree—red green blue yellow lights in a low, steady glow.

“Mmph.” Billy lifted his head and wiped his mouth surreptitiously. “Okay?”

“Yeah.” Dom sounded a little odd, but Billy couldn’t see his face; they were in almost the same position as before, except that Billy had relaxed further against (onto) Dom. “Just woke up.”

Billy shifted, craning his neck from side to side to ease the stiffness; Dom moved at the same time, turning over, and Billy froze as Dom wriggled and heaved himself up and over and suddenly he was facing Billy, still trapped under Billy’s arm, his face very very close, sleepy and content. “Don’t think I can sleep anymore,” Dom said, smiling, and Billy, Billy shut his eyes and kissed Dom. 

Just the softest pressure of his mouth—Dom’s lips were soft and dry—Dom had shaved earlier, when he showered, so had Billy—and when Billy stopped and turned his head sideways, tucking his face down under Dom’s, their cheeks slid alongside each other smoothly, no catch, no rasp. Billy kept his eyes closed, hiding. 

“What—” Dom sounded wide awake, and Billy shivered, a small shudder that went through his whole body. His arm tightened around Dom’s waist as he held onto him. “Bill. What was that.” It wasn’t quite a question.

Billy pulled his head back just a little—just enough to create an air pocket against Dom’s neck, so he could talk. “Should I not have done that?”

Dom was very still. “I...” He swallowed, loudly, considering just where Billy had his ear at the moment. “I don’t know. You never have before... like that.”

Billy squeezed his eyes closed, hard, and moved—pushing Dom away just a bit, lifting his head, gathering up his courage and that little stone of truth. He opened his eyes and looked into Dom’s eyes, dark and worried and clear. “I know. I’m sorry.”

Dom looked confused—a small line between his brows, his mouth soft. “Are you sorry you did it, or sorry you haven’t ever done it before... like that?”

“Sorry because—” It would be all right if he said he was sorry he’d kissed Dom—they would be themselves, best friends forever still. Dom would still come to Italy with Billy, and Billy would still come to visit Dom in Hawaii. It would be all right, fine, easy. It would be a lie. “Sorry because I’ve never kissed you like that before.” Dom’s mouth opened and then closed. He just looked at Billy, and Billy looked back, feeling his face heat until he had a full-blown blush going. “I won’t do it again, if you don’t—”

Dom kissed Billy. Slow, and warm, and Dom wasn’t shy—his lips slid across Billy’s, opened, tongue delicately tracing the seam of Billy’s lips, parting them so Dom could kiss him better, warm wet sweet breath between them, Dom’s weight slowly transferring onto Billy’s body until he was almost atop him, Billy’s hands clutching at the back of Dom’s jumper as he sank into the kiss, reeling, trapped between laughing and moaning at Dom’s mouth, Dom’s tongue _inside_ his mouth, Dom’s hand, cupping his jaw and sliding back to tangle in his hair, Dom’s body pressing him into the sofa.

“I really hope you’ll do it again,” Dom said. It was his turn to hide, apparently, forehead against Billy’s chin, face down out of sight. “Soon.”

“Now?” Billy wrapped his arms around Dom and held him, feeling warmth and want and happiness wash through his whole body. He laughed. “Can I kiss you again now?”

“You can do anything you want,” Dom said. Billy could hear his smile, and could feel Dom’s nerves, too, in the way he shivered—just as Billy had—in his fingers, trembling against Billy’s scalp.

“I’m sorry it took me so long,” Billy whispered.

“Shut it,” Dom replied. He used his head to push Billy’s chin up; kissed his throat. “I don’t care. I mean, I do care.” He kissed the side of his neck, trailed warm, moist kisses upwards to a particular place that made Billy shudder, hands curling to grip Dom’s jumper again. “But I don’t want to waste time on that, or—” he inhaled sharply, and Billy felt him tense, “—or waste this, or wait for you to change your mind.”

“Dom—” Billy’s stomach lurched in such an abrupt change that Billy wondered briefly if he’d caught Dom’s virus. He knew, though, that he hadn’t—it was panic, and the abrupt, rending heartbreak that he’d ever made Dom hurt so much. “Dom, wait, wait.” Dom shook his head and suddenly he was crushing Billy, face pressed into his neck, holding him tightly. “I’m not going to change my mind,” Billy said, gasping, nose stinging. “I’m sorry, sorry I’ve been such a shit, sorry I waited till it was easy for me and didn’t tell you sooner. I’m sorry, Dom, but I’m not going to change my mind, I promise you that—I’m yours, if you’ll have me, if you can stand being with someone who’s such a stupid arse, someone so stupid and blind and, and. _Fuck_.” Billy clutched Dom as tightly as Dom clutched him. “I’m not going to change my mind. I’m yours for as long as you’ll have me.”

Dom sniffed and lifted his head. His face was red, eyes bright. “Why didn’t you—when did you—Bill, you arsehole.” He laughed, half-crying, and kissed Billy, hard. 

Billy melted into it, opened his mouth and his body, cradled Dom and rolled his hips up against Dom’s and slid his hands down, tugging at Dom’s jumper and t-shirt until he could slide his hands up, onto the warm bare skin of Dom’s back, holding him, wanting Dom to believe, to feel Billy’s want and need and, well, love, and maybe he should say that, though it seemed weird, and Dom was gasping into Billy’s mouth, pressing his hips down against Billy’s and oh, god, he was hard, wasn’t he? And it was scary but also fucking _wonderful_ , and Billy forgot how to say anything except _mmm_ as they kissed, humming his pleasure and relief and joy into Dom’s mouth.

They made love on the sofa. The soft steady light from the tree turned Dom’s skin gold, and it was awkward, a little; they laughed more than maybe they should have, undressing each other, kissing, licking, blowing raspberries against tender skin and then jerking away, giggling, fingers sliding into secret places, snickers changing to moans, want, need…

When Dom pushed into Billy it _hurt_ —Billy panted and clenched his whole face up, and Dom paused. “I’ll stop,” he whispered, “I don’t want to hurt you, we don’t have to do this today—” He cupped Billy’s cheek, leaning over him.

“—No,” Billy rasped, and he opened his eyes, looked up at Dom. “Don’t stop,” he said, and tried to smile. “Kiss me again?”

And Dom did. As Billy opened to that kiss, his body opened and Dom began moving, slow and slick and tight and god, it still sort of hurt but Dom’s face was so beautiful, so soft and intent and his eyelids creased slightly as his closed eyes tightened, lovely, and after a while it didn’t hurt, it was, it was… Billy arched a little and moaned because it rubbed his cock between their bellies and Dom was blinking down at him, breath huffing in and out quickly, hips moving faster and Billy was shaking, because he was close but he couldn’t, he couldn’t, but then he _could_ , and he realised, suddenly: this was _Dom_ , inside _him_ , Billy, Dom making love to him, deep inside him–

Billy came so hard he thought maybe he’d _died_.

And when he could breathe again (and realised he wasn’t actually dead), Dom was thrusting into him, shaking, crying out his name, face screwed up in what looked almost like pain as he came and came and came, sobbing for breath and with his release as he collapsed onto Billy.

“Shhh,” Billy said, holding him, “hush, it’s alright. It’s alright.” Dom nodded weakly against his chest, taking in great gulps of air. “It’s alright, I’m not going anywhere.” He stroked Dom’s sweaty back and sides, threaded his fingers through damp hair, gathered him as close as he could. Drifted, for a little while, as Dom’s breathing slowed, as his heart went from pounding so hard Billy could feel it bang right against his own ribs to a calm, steady, barely tangible thud. “God,” Billy sighed at last.

“You do the work next time,” Dom mumbled into his skin. He exhaled and then yawned.

“That can be managed,” Billy said. He rolled so Dom lay squashed between the back of the sofa and the front of Billy. “Why don’t you have a kip?”

Dom sighed. “All I’ve done since I got here is sleep.”

“You threw up a bit,” Billy pointed out. “Had some beer. Also got a bit of sex.” He wriggled down and kissed Dom’s mouth, looking at his closed eyes, blurry with proximity. “Go to sleep, Dom.”

“I’m a little afraid to,” Dom murmured. He didn’t sound afraid, though. Just tired, worn out. “So weird,” he breathed against Billy’s lips. “Think I’ll wake up and you’ll be sitting there watching telly... dressed...” He sighed.

Billy kissed him again, aching. “I may be,” he said. “But trust me, as soon as I see you’re awake, I plan to get naked again very quickly.”

Dom’s lips quirked and he opened his eyes. “Gonna fuck me?” he murmured.

Billy growled, just a little, and his hips rocked forward involuntarily. “Yes.” He kissed Dom again, pushing into his mouth with his tongue, tasting him: wet, slick, warm, Dom.

“Okay.” Dom smacked his lips and tucked his head under Billy’s chin. “Maybe I’ll have pudding first.”

“Maybe you’ll use me for a plate,” Billy said, and Dom snickered.

“That was pathetic,” he said, interrupting himself with a yawn.

“Oi, shut up and go to sleep,” Billy said, pushing his fingers through Dom’s hair in regular strokes. He winced as he wriggled and made himself comfortable, reminded that he wasn’t yet accustomed to their new activity. Well, time enough for that. And Dom didn’t seem all that horrified by the idea of Billy shagging him, so maybe they could do that for a while, and there were always blowjobs and hand-jobs to consider... Billy bit back a sigh as he felt himself harden, his prick squashed between his thigh and Dom’s. _Time enough for that_ , he thought again. _Settle down_. His cock—stupid git—hardened further.

Dom kissed his chest.

“Maybe I’m not as sleepy as I thought,” he said.


	13. POSTLUDE

“Mistletoe,” Dom said as they stood on the doorstep, waiting for someone to answer the door.

Billy rolled his eyes. “Bad enough we had to shag for the first time on Christmas Day. Are we to be spared no cliché?” 

Dom put his hand on the back of Billy’s neck. “I guess not,” he said, and when Margaret opened the door, Billy and Dom nearly fell through it, breaking hastily apart to wipe at their mouths.

“Ehm...” Dom offered her a funny-paper-wrapped parcel. “Happy Boxing Day?” He smiled cheerfully at the three people staring from behind Margaret.

Billy felt his face slowly turning cherry red, and wondered if he’d ever blushed so much in his life leading up to the past three days. “Hullo, Margo.”

“Well, bring yourselves in,” Margaret said finally, taking the package from Dom. She eyed them both. “Come into the kitchen with me, please.”

They followed, Billy wiping his palms on his jeans, throwing Dom a rather wild _I don’t know_ look.

“When did _that_ happen?” she asked, turning around to face them both.

“Yesterday,” Billy said tentatively. He fumbled for Dom’s hand. “But, y’know. A long time ago really.” Dom squeezed his fingers.

Margaret... smiled. “Well, happy fucking Christmas,” she said, breaking into a laugh. “And about time.” She stood on her tiptoes and kissed Dom’s cheek, then leaned over to do the same to Billy. “Now c’mon, let’s go shock my in-laws.” She tucked their arms into her own and dragged them away.


End file.
